Do you remember?
by candylit
Summary: It's a lie, Misaki thinks. You left once and you'll leave me again. You're lying, Saru, you're not always here. /character death/


_"If tears could build a stairway and memories a lane I'd walk right up to heaven and bring you home again."_

-Unknown.

* * *

Misaki wakes up to the sun's rays as they pour into the room through the open windows. He stares at them for a few seconds. Did he leave them open? He doesn't recall, but maybe he did. His eyes hurt, and his head hurts. His face feels weird, and he wipes it on the sleeve of his shirt, but the feeling doesn't go away.

Gathering up all his energy to overcome the morning grogginess, he makes his way out of bed and stares at his reflection in the mirror. He looks a mess. His hair's weird, his eyes are red and puffy and he thinks back to what he'd done last night. He'd promised himself he wouldn't, but he has no will power. Not anymore. Not since it happened.

"Why are you up so early, Misaki…" A drawl comes from the bed. He doesn't turn around to see. He knows who it is, and he knows he's there, even though he shouldn't be. "Are you crying?"

"I'm not fucking _crying_," he says, shooting Saruhiko a pointed look that is betrayed by the quiver in his voice. "Crying is for losers."

Saruhiko smirks. "Yeah. Losers."

Misaki gives him the finger and tells him to make the bed before storming into the bathroom, where he can let go of his masculinity for maybe a few minutes without being called out on it.

The bed isn't made when he comes out. The room is still as dirty as he'd left it. Saruhiko is lounging on the sofa in the living room. Misaki glares.

"Can't you ever do what I tell you to?"

He gets a hum in response and for a second, considers hitting Saruhiko on the head with the book he's reading but decides against it. He doesn't want to fight. He doesn't want to start arguing about anything anymore. He's fine with Saruhiko being lazy, because he never expected him to actually clean the room in the first place.

"What are you even doing here, you fucktard," he mutters under his breath, as he begins making the bed. Saruhiko is now standing at the doorway, watching him. He doesn't offer to help, and Misaki doesn't ask him to.

"I'm always here."

_That's a lie_, Misaki thinks. There was a time when he was alone and there will come a time when he will be alone again, but he tries not to think about that.

_You left me once, and you'll leave me again. You're lying, Saru, you're not always here. _

He collects the dirty clothes lying around the room, dumps them in the laundry basket and passes by Saruhiko in the door way. Their shoulders brush as he does so, and he notices, not for the first time, that Saruhiko is icy cold. It sends goosebumps all over his body, making him shiver. He bites his tongue to stop himself from commenting on it. He doesn't need to say anything. Saruhiko knows about it anyway. He's mentioned it before – holding hands, lying in bed, pressing soft kisses all over Misaki's face; it's always "Misaki is warm." He knows he's cold. Misaki doesn't need to bring it up.

"I'm going to Homra," he announces. "Coming?"

The face Saruhiko makes is expected. "Why would I want to?"

Misaki shrugs. "You come like, once a week? Thought you might wanna come today, but I guess not, so okay."

Saruhiko sighs, walks over to Misaki and fixes his beanie, pushing stray strands of chestnut hair out of his eyes. "You," he says, "Are too obsessed." He kisses the corner of Misaki's mouth and then walks off to the bedroom.

"Have fun."

Misaki scowls and leaves the apartment.

-oOo-

The bar is deathly quiet when he enters. For some reason, it always is now. There's no hyperactive chattering going on in the corner where Chitose usually is, with two or more of his lady friends; there's no yelling from Kusanagi-san about how Eric needs to shut up and stop insulting everyone. Anna doesn't talk much anymore. Not that she ever did in the first place, but it's gotten too much, it's unnerving.

It's probably because of Mikoto-san's death. It hasn't been long. Even Misaki is still affected by it. But Misaki has Saruhiko to keep him busy; Misaki has Saruhiko to fill in the empty void inside him. He thinks wow, he's lucky.

"Yata-chan," Kusanagi-san says as he enters the bar. "Hey."

"Morning," he replies, voice low, to match the melancholy atmosphere around him. He takes a seat on one of the revolving stools at the counter and asks about missions. "Got any for me?"

"There haven't really been any missions recently," Kusanagi-san says. "Not since…he left."

"Yeah," Misaki says. He feels a pain in his chest that he pushes down, because he doesn't want to cry about it. Not in front of everyone, and especially not twice in one day. It's still early. He can control himself. "I guess so."

The silence is awkward. It feels weird, because he feels like everyone is staring at him; everyone is trying to come up with things to say, and he thinks that's stupid, because when has anyone in the room ever been uncomfortable when talking to each other?

"So, Yata-san." Kamamoto takes a seat next to him. "Fushimi-san's not here with you today?"

"Yeah, you know him." Misaki rolls his eyes and offers a half smile. "He said he wanted to stay home today."

"Oh."

The same silence settles again. It's suffocating. It's choking him, and Misaki wants to scream and run home; he wants to run back to Saruhiko, because that atmosphere is so much more comfortable than this one, and why is everyone being so weird about the red king's death, anyway?

"How are you, Yata-chan?"

"I'm good," he says, but stays silent for the rest of the hour, until he decides he can't take any more and leaves.

-oOo-

"You're back early," Saruhiko says when he opens the door. He's still in his pajamas and his hair is still an unruly mess. Misaki pats it down and tells him to brush it, why is he such a slob, goddammit.

"It's gotten really weird there," he explains. "They kinda seem afraid to talk."

"It's just your imagination." Saruhiko pokes his nose and walks away, and in spite of himself, Misaki smiles. It feels nostalgic. Like it used to be before the whole betrayal thing – did that even happen? Sometimes he thinks it was all just a dream, but he sees the scratched-on skin adorning Saruhiko's collar bone and reminds himself no, he's not making things up in his head.

But it doesn't matter now, does it? Because Saruhiko is here, and Saruhiko won't leave him alone anymore. He's not sure how true the latter is – it's still too early in their relationship to say anything - but he likes to think the probability is high.

"Hey, Saru," he calls, following the other to the bedroom. "Tell me a story."

Saruhiko scoffs, from his position on the bed. He's lying on his back and staring at the ceiling fan as it turns slowly. Misaki lies down next to him and does the same.

"I like stories," he says. "So tell me a story."

Saruhiko kind of smiles. "A story, huh?"

"Yeah."

"I don't know many stories."

"I don't care, just tell me one."

"Once the blue king…"

Misaki stares at the fan and pays attention to Saruhiko's words. He knows this story. It's about when Saruhiko had first left Homra. It still hurts him a little, every time he listens to it, but he likes the story. Saruhiko says he'd felt lost then. He says he'd still thought of Misaki, even when he took that first step as a Blue clan member, and it makes Misaki happy. He likes the story, and he likes how Saruhiko tells it. He listens closely to every word, repeating it to himself in his heart, because he wants to make sure he always remembers everything that Saruhiko says; every tiny detail about the life they spent apart.

He tells stories too, sometimes, but he doesn't like them. He doesn't like that he's alone in them; doesn't like that Saruhiko isn't there in his memories of those days, so he usually doesn't offer to tell any. But when he does, Saruhiko pays him as much attention as he is paying now, so he thinks maybe it's okay.

They're lying quietly in bed when his phone rings. Saruhiko tells him he doesn't have to answer but he answers it anyway.

"Yata-chan," Kusanagi's voice is soft. "Will you come by again, please?"

"Sure, okay."

He fixes his hair as he pulls his shoes on. Saruhiko has his eyes closed, but he isn't sleeping. "I'm going back to the bar, Saru."

Saruhiko opens one eye. "Oh?" He sits up and yawns. "I'm coming with you."

Misaki stares at him, a small smile slowly pulling at the corners of his lips. "Really?"

"Yeah."

-oOo-

The bar is still full of stony silence as they enter. Kusanagi-san nods his acknowledgement, eyes focused on Misaki's smiling face. "You made it."

"Yeah." Misaki takes a seat at the counter, and pats the stool next to him. Saruhiko sits down hesitantly. Misaki doesn't fail to notice the looks he gets; doesn't overlook the fact that everyone is looking from him to Saruhiko, and then down at the floor. He ignores it. They're just sour about things that happened ages ago. Misaki was affected the most, so he thinks everyone else should let it go, since he managed to.

He smiles and ignores the tears that are suddenly making everything hard to see. He's so confused; why are they there? He's happy right now. He's so content with his life right now, what's with the tears? A hand covers his, where it rests on the counter and he is grateful for the comfort; grateful for the warmth that flows from the icy cold hand to his.

"It's okay," Saruhiko whispers. "You're fine, so don't cry, you stupid crybaby."

"Fuckwad," he replies. "I'm not crying."

Saruhiko's hand around his tightens and he presses a kiss against Misaki's cheek. Misaki smiles. For a second, he thinks about falling swords and death and blood, and the tears come again, but this time they slide down his cheeks before he can stop them.

"Crybaby," Saruhiko drawls and Misaki wipes them away furiously.

"I am _not_ a crybaby."

"Yata-chan," Kusanagi-san says. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Okay." He places a glass of water in front of him. "Here."

Misaki looks at him, surprised, because he didn't ask for water, but he realizes he should probably drink it, because suddenly his throat is dry and he feels dehydrated. He feels faint and suddenly, the cold hand on his left one isn't there anymore. Instead, it settles around his shoulders. He drinks the water and instantly feels better.

"Have you been eating?"

"Yeah."

"Who cooks?"

"Me, duh," he snorts. "Saru can't cook for shit; I'd die if I ate anything he made."

"Fuck you," Saruhiko says and Misaki grins, sticking his tongue out. "So childish."

"Yata-chan," Kusanagi san interrupts before he can say anything. "Yata-chan, we have to talk."

He thinks of swords and death and blood and suddenly everything is spinning. "I feel sick, I think I'm gonna go home."

He takes Saru's hand and turns to leave but Chitose and Kamamoto are blocking the door. Kamamoto shakes his head sadly. Anna stands up from her seat in the corner and approaches him. He watches as she steps closer and closer until she's holding his hand. He pries his eyes away from her face and looks down at the tiny fingers wrapped around his own.

"Misaki is hurting," she says.

"I'm not," he whispers, but he knows that's a lie. He thinks of swords and death and blood and curses Saruhiko for being so silent. Isn't he supposed to yell at everyone and demand that they be allowed to leave? But Saruhiko is only rolling his eyes and glaring at everyone, and Misaki knows it's not going to help because nobody's scared of Saruhiko's glare anymore.

"Yata, you need help," Chitose states and the bluntness of his declaration makes Misaki's head throb, makes his heart beat faster, makes him feel dizzy and nauseous and he just wants to _get away._

"I'm fine," he says. "I don't need help with anything."

"Yata-chan," Kusanagi-san says, voice gentle. "We're just concerned about you." He puts an arm around Misaki's shoulder, but it's pushed away and Misaki is stumbling backwards.

He feels disgusting. He knows they only mean well, but he's not ready for this. He doesn't want to talk about it. He shoots Saruhiko a pleading look, but only gets a shake of the head in return. Saruhiko isn't going to help him with this. Saruhiko _can't_ help him with this. He's on his own, and he hates it.

"I just," he pauses, "I have this habit, it's completely normal and – "

"Yata, talking to yourself is not normal."

"I'm not talking to myself! I'm talking to Saru – "

"Saruhiko is fucking dead, Yata. He's not around anymore. You're talking to yourself, and it's not fucking normal."

Misaki freezes. _Saruhiko is fucking dead. Saruhiko is dead. He's dead. He's not around anymore. _He laughs. He laughs because he knows he insane; laughs because he knows Saruhiko wasn't going to be around much longer, even after he came back. He laughs because his chest hurts and he doesn't want to cry. He laughs because he's so broken, he doesn't know what to do anymore.

_Saruhiko is dead._

He thinks of swords and death and blood and throws up all over the floor.

-oOo-

Misaki stares at the bed. It's neat, save for one side, where the creases in the sheets suggest someone had been lying there a while ago.

He doesn't turn around, only stares at the bed where one person lay, and the other never did. "What are you doing here."

"I'm always here."

"Liar."

He turns around and faces Saruhiko who shakes his head and gives him a genuine smile. He pats Misaki's chest. "You said I'd always be here, right? You loser."

Misaki closes his eyes. "What's it like being dead?"

"I don't really know," Saruhiko tells him. "I've just been hanging around here with you."

"I hate you, Saru."

_I love you._

Smirk. "I know."

"What are you doing here?" Misaki asks.

Saruhiko thinks for a minute. "Waiting, I guess."

"For?"

"You."

Misaki feels the press of ghostly cold lips against his own and then he's alone again, in a room where only one side of the bed is slept in, and the other empty.

* * *

a/n; For sarumi fest 2014. Dedicated to isumiilde and sadistfushimi on tumblr. saru just doesn't die enough..


End file.
